


Harry and Draco and Babies, Oh My!

by undersomestairs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Animagus, Crack, HP: EWE, M/M, Mpreg, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undersomestairs/pseuds/undersomestairs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the harrydracompreg Mpreg Fest prompt: <i>Draco Malfoy is working on his Animagus transformation for the first time and gets stuck with bunny ears and tail. He also gets a serious urge to reproduce. Due to his magical strength, a weak wizard won't satisfy him at all. What's this? Potter's the most powerful wizard in Britain? Perfect!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry and Draco and Babies, Oh My!

It takes Draco over two hours to clear his mind, buzzing with anticipation as he is. Never before has he worked so hard for anything. Growing up in the Manor, he and his family had whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it. His mother never had to work and his father never had to work hard. They’d had what they did because they were _Malfoys_ and they were _purebloods_ and that made them better than everyone else, so they _deserved_ it.

Now he often scoffs at the thought. It had come back to bite those wealthy, holier-than-thou purebloods in the arse when their lack of work ethic allowed them and their deranged snake-faced leader to be ultimately defeated by a bunch of teenagers. They were pathetic, but at least it had ended well for Draco, who was beyond glad to be rid of all that madness.

On the other hand, that utter lack of real discipline while growing up really hadn’t done him any favors. He’d felt the sting of that for the first time on his way to Hogwarts, when Potter had refused his friendship. Never before had he been denied something he wanted so badly. Needless to say, he hadn’t taken it well.

It had only become worse from there, when he was faced with competition, and had to actually put forth effort to be better than everyone else – and Granger had still beaten him in almost every way possible, the bitch (she was really quite pleasant, and they’d become friendly while working together, but certain memories still induced a hint of aggravation. Considering how much she’d been helping him with his latest project, he knew he really ought to work on that.)

And then, out in the real world, he’d gotten a job as a solicitor at the Ministry and was determined to prove himself to his peers. It wasn’t an easy feat, considering many of them were _saviors of the Wizarding world._ He still had a ways to go on that one, and it was like hitting a reset button every time he absentmindedly pushed his sleeves up and someone got a glimpse of his mark.

This, though, was just for him. Granger – who was Weasley now, anyway – had been informed, as he’d sometimes needed the resource that was her amazingly brilliant mind, but he was the only other person who knew, and he planned on keeping it that way. He only wished to prove to _himself_ that he was capable of something only a few witches and wizards mastered, because he was Draco Malfoy, and that had come to mean something much different than it used to.

A full year of studying, meditating, exercising his magic, and struggling through it all but never giving up had led him to this point. He knows he’s ready, can _feel_ it. Today is the day he will finally become an Animagus.

He takes one last deep breath and concentrates all of his magic towards this one goal. Nothing happens for a moment, and then suddenly he’s transforming, which reminds him very much of when Barty Crouch Junior had fired that hex at him in his fourth year. He quickly extinguishes that thought, because all of his focus has to be on this if he wants it to work right.

He knows it does. He can feel the change, and sense that his body is covered in fur. He notes that he’s quite close to the ground, and is struck by a moment of panic. _‘Please,’_ he thinks. ‘Oh Merlin, please say I’m not a ferret.’

He lifts his head to look into the mirror, and at least he’s not a ferret, but he can’t deny that he’d prefer to be something less similar.

He’s a rabbit. A white, short-haired bunny rabbit with a twitching nose and fluffy bunny tail. He tries to move and it’s a bit clumsy until some animal instinct takes over and he _hops_ , which is slightly embarrassing.

He’s still gleeful, though. He’s done it, after all this time. He’s successfully transformed into an animal. A fluffy, adorable, domestic-looking animal, but he’s still an Animagus, which is more than most of his coworkers can say. He’d rub this in their faces (in a dignified manner, of course) if he wasn’t already set on keeping it secret.

He takes some time to get used to moving around in his new form, and then decides he should probably turn back. He needs to save up his energy so that he can try again later. ‘It takes practice to really get it,’ Hermione had told him. He doesn’t know what he would have done if he hadn’t found out she was also an unregistered Animagus and therefore guaranteed to keep his secret.

He concentrates his magic again, imagining himself back in his human form and wills all of his power to make it happen. He can feel the shift as he transforms again, unable to help the small laugh that leaves his lips as he looks down at his human hands, flexing his fingers. It still feels unreal that he’s managed to accomplish this.

He looks up and his heart feels like it’s plummeting down into his stomach. Extending from the top of his head are two long ears, as light as his hair. He crawls towards the mirror, horrified as he reaches up to feel one, and wondering what could have gone so wrong. He’d been so sure he was ready.

He turns slightly, unable to pull his eyes away from the mirror, and freezes when he sees a lump under his pants. His hands shake as he works them down enough to reveal a fluffy white tail, and he moans in despair.

So much for going unregistered.

*

He pushes the paperwork across the counter, pretending he doesn’t notice that the woman is trying not to laugh. No matter how many times he’d transformed into his animal form and back, the ears (and tail, but that was more easily hidden) would not go away. He had contacted Hermione, who was looking into it, but he couldn’t exactly hide away in his flat until she found something. He had no choice but to register that he’s now an Animagus.

He pays the small fine as punishment for not registering that he was planning to become one before the change was made, and he’s taken to a room where he has to transform so another Ministry worker can confirm his animal shape and take note of his markings (which just seems to be a black spot on his left paw). He finds it very uncomfortable to make himself so vulnerable in front of a stranger, as if it wasn’t bad enough that he looks ridiculous when he’s back in his human form.

He still checks for the ears first thing, hoping as he does every time that they will just go away so he won’t have to deal with it. It would be extremely annoying for his condition to right itself as soon as he’d registered, but at least he’d be walking out of the office without knowing he looks like an idiot.

Worst of all, he knows that work will be hell. As if their lack of respect wasn’t bad enough, how will they treat him when he shows up with bunny ears? This was supposed to put him above them, even if they wouldn’t know about it, but now all they’ll see is his failure. Part of him can’t stand to face it, but the rest knows he doesn’t have a choice.

He takes off the rest of the afternoon to Floo to St. Mungo’s.

*

Draco puts up with the various Healers’ snickering, even though it seems like he’s being seen by an unreasonably large number of them, and suspects they’re purposefully trading off for each test done so they can all get a glimpse of him. He’s really going to need a good sulk when he gets home.

When a new Healer comes in to tell him that they’ll be looking into his tests to try and spot something but they really don’t know what might be wrong with him, he wants to start throwing things. He’s endured far too much humiliation today to have nothing to show for it. There’s nothing left but to try and scrape what little dignity he has left off the floor and he strolls out without speaking a word to the Healer, who calls out to him (no doubt wanting to pawn him off to someone else who needs a good laugh at the ex-Death Eater’s expense).

When he gets home, his eyes feel watery, but he reasons that it’s been an emotional day for him, which hits even harder knowing what a good day it was supposed to be. He was _supposed_ to wake up with a secret that was all for him, something he could hold over others if only in his head to make himself feel like he’s worth more than what they see in him. Instead, he’ll spend only Merlin knows how long being mocked. Even when he manages to make the ears go away, they’ll probably never let him live it down.

He pours himself a glass of wine and curls up on the couch, his lips turned down in an epic pout. Even worse than dealing with it all is dealing with it all _alone_. He’s briefly thought of how nice it would be to have a man around recently, but right now he feels so _empty_ without someone there. There’s something off about it, too – something he can’t quite figure out. He drains what’s left in his glass, deciding that he needs a good night’s sleep if he wants to make it through tomorrow.

*

It’s just as bad as he expected. Feels worse, even, now that it’s actually happening. The sympathetic looks from Hermione are slightly comforting, but don’t come close to making up for all the leers and open laughter, which he hears nice and clear even though he spends the day shut up in his office. He expects they’re choosing to stand closer to his door, making sure he can hear every wounding comment.

At this point, that sense of being off he had the night before is welcome as a distraction. He can’t quite figure out what it is he’s feeling, but he knows something is stirring inside him, and he _wants_. What it is he wants, he doesn’t know.

He works late, hoping everyone will be gone when he exits his office, and not exactly finding it pleasant that the first thing he spots is the bright red hair that can only belong to a Weasley. It’s not uncommon for him to visit Hermione, and he and Draco know how to be civil with one another at this point, but it still makes him scowl when Ron bursts out laughing as soon as he lays eyes on him.

“Those _ears_! It’s even worse than ‘Mione said!”

“Ronald!” Hermione scolds, adjusting the infant in her arms. The moment Draco sees Rose Weasley, he ceases to care about what Ron thinks. His feet carry him over, and Hermione looks defensive as she clutches the child tighter. “Draco?”

“May I hold her?”

“No,” Ron responds instantly, and Hermione shoots him a glare before turning untrusting eyes on Draco.

“You’ve never wanted to hold her before. What is this about?”

That catches him off guard. “I don’t know,” he says eventually. “Just – please?”

She shows him how to support Rose and carefully shifts her into his arms, staying close like she’s ready in case Draco decides to be completely incompetent and drop her. There’s no way he would let that happen, though – no way he would allow any harm to come to this precious being, whose breath is coming out in soft puffs as he strokes his finger along her cheek, and whose eyelids start to lower, adorably sleepy.

“She’s beautiful,” Draco murmurs, and then shakes his head, because that’s just not enough. “ _Perfect,_ ” he corrects, looking up at Hermione and Ron and briefly wondering how Weasley could have played a part in creating something so flawless. They’re looking at him like he might be a bit touched in the head, so he relents when Hermione reaches out for Rose. “You’re so very lucky.”

“I didn’t know you wanted kids,” Hermione states, and it’s like something within him clicks into place.

 _Children._ That’s what he’s spent the whole day wanting. The desire burns so strongly within him that he can’t believe he couldn’t recognize it earlier. “I didn’t either.” His mind is already weighing his options, figuring out how to get what he wants as soon as he possibly can. “Well, have a lovely evening, Weasleys. I think I’m going out.”

“Going– but, Draco, what about the– you know.” She makes a show of looking above his head, and he remembers the ears.

“Right, those. Well, people will have heard by now, so I might as well take it in stride, don’t you think? Show them I’m not ashamed.”

“I’d be ashamed,” Ron offers, most unhelpfully. Hermione ignores him.

“Are you sure about this? I just think– it might be best not to draw attention to it, yeah? Until we’re able to fix your… condition. There are a number of us working on it, I’m sure we’ll have you sorted in a day or two.”

“I appreciate that, Hermione, but this really can’t wait. Take care,” he calls, already heading towards the exit and paying no mind to Ron’s loudly whispered “I think he’s gone mental.”

*

It isn’t Draco’s first time at Wands, by any means. It’s widely considered to be the hottest gay Wizarding club in London, if not all of England, and some of his best one night stands had started here. He can’t think of any place better to find a donor for his cause.

He expects it to be simple: walk in, seek out the first available man that would offer outstanding genetics, and then work his powers of seduction. Once he’s allowed in (which doesn’t take long despite the ears, as he’s shagged the bouncer on more than one occasion) he can immediately tell it won’t be so easy.

It’s not that there aren’t attractive men around, because there are. You don’t get into Wands if you’re not gloriously beautiful or stinking rich (Draco prides himself on being both) so that definitely isn’t the problem. And he’s sure some of them are intelligent and fertile and would produce fine offspring, but there’s something about them that just isn’t _enough_.

Shock doesn’t quite cover how he feels when he realizes he’s actually detecting their magic. He can’t quite explain it as the men pass by him – like there’s an aura around each one that he’s picking up on, telling him how much power they have. It’s something he hadn’t even considered, but now couldn’t possibly ignore. They’re all weaker than he is, and he can’t have less than the best for his young.

A strong power from across the dance floor calls out to him like a beacon, putting everyone else to shame. He steps forward, only to be caught by an unfamiliar arm around his waist.

“Hey, bunny.” It’s breathed into his ear, too hot and too close. “I like your ears.” And then the stranger is actually touching his long ears, _stroking_ them, and Draco fights a shiver. On a basic level, the feeling is pleasant, but that’s easily smothered by the humiliation.

“Get off of me,” he growls, shoving at the guy’s chest and slipping out of his grip while he has the chance. He goes straight through the dance floor, hoping the overly touchy wizard won’t be able to follow, and quickly discovering that anyone who lays eyes on him sees it as an invitation to try and pet him.

He’s severely flushed and ruffled by the time he makes it out on the other side, still determined to reach whomever’s aura is shining so much brighter than the rest. Whoever will end up fathering his children by the end of the night, because no one else could be better suited.

And then he sees Harry Potter.

He stands frozen, staring at Harry and knowing without a doubt that he’s the source of that powerful magic. Who else could it have been, really? Draco tells himself he’s at least weighing the pros and cons, but a part of him knows he’s definitely going to proceed as planned. While Potter may not have the genetics for a flawless outer appearance, his magical strength would be an invaluable gift to any child. Besides, Draco’s beautiful enough for the both of them.

“Hello, Harry. Fancy seeing you here,” Draco greets, sliding onto a stool next to his prey. Harry looks at him in surprise, his eyes widening as they drift up to the ears. Draco suppresses a sigh, waiting for–

“Are those bunny ears?” he asks dumbly, and Draco finds it very difficult not to roll his eyes, as is so instinctual around Harry. He knows he has to play nice tonight, though.

“They are, in fact! My goodness, Harry, you’re so perceptive.” Harry blushes and looks down, and Draco realizes that his mocking might have been a bit too obvious. He decides to just change the subject. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”

Harry nods, still sneaking glances at the ears as he gets the bartender’s attention. “Oh, er, what would you like?”

“A butterbeer’s fine.” It’s what Harry’s having, and it’s bound to be more in his comfort zone than having to order a fruity, colorful drink, which is ideal as it seems to be dawning on Harry just who he’s buying a drink _for_. Draco doesn’t want to scare him off – manipulation is a very subtle art. He can’t resist a little curiosity, though. “I haven’t seen you here before. I wouldn’t have thought this kind of club catered to your… interests.” He chooses his words carefully, but Harry still turns a bright shade of red.

“I’ve only been a couple of times. Still not used to it all.”

His butterbeer arrives, and Draco slowly runs his fingers up and down the neck of it, hoping to plant a few subconscious ideas in Harry’s head already. “Yes, well, it’s all rather loud and in your face in these types of places, and you’re a quiet sort. Maybe you’d be more comfortable if we got out of here?”

“You and me?” Harry’s eyes widen dramatically, and Draco knows he’s pushed it too quickly.

“Or we could dance first,” he suggests, hoping he hasn’t lost Harry completely. It’s a delicate situation – with their past, it had to be – but there’s no one who could give him what Harry can, so he knows it’ll be well worth it. “Do you like dancing?”

“Not really,” Harry admits, glancing at the gyrating bodies on the dance floor with an expression Draco can only read as fear. “Leaving might not be so bad, really.”

“Perfect,” Draco almost purrs, taking a sip from his still full drink and slipping down off the stool. He waits for Harry to follow, linking their arms so he won’t lose him in the crowd. Harry blushes again at the physical contact but doesn’t pull away and doesn’t even try very hard to hide his smile, and Draco already feels like he’s succeeded.

*

“It’s part of a costume,” Draco lies, snatching up his ice cream while Harry fishes around in his wallet. The Muggle behind the counter is snickering, and Harry’s smirks don’t help. “We were at a fancy dress party.”

“Why hasn’t he got a costume, then?” the kid asks, nodding at Harry, who finally finds some Muggle notes and hands them over to pay for their frozen treats. He’s still smirking, the bastard.

“He’s a spoil sport who wouldn’t dress up,” Draco explains. Harry snorts, and Draco attempts a glare so vicious it will – well, not kill him, but severely harm him in some way that doesn’t affect his fertility, at least.

It distracts him from the Muggle’s hand reaching towards him, which he doesn’t realize until the fingers are running down one of the long ears. “Where’d you say you got these? They feel real.”

Draco stalks out without another word, pretending he doesn’t hear Harry laughing behind him.

“I’m _never_ setting foot in a Muggle establishment again,” Draco hisses once they’re a safe distance from the doors. “I can’t believe you convinced me to do that.”

“You said you didn’t want to be seen at Fortescue’s,” Harry reminds him. “I take it the ears _are_ real, then. Was it a hex? A potion gone wrong?”

“You mean you haven’t heard? Seems like it’s all anyone has to bloody talk about,” Draco grumbles. The look on Harry’s face is oddly sympathetic, and Draco reasons that he _would_ know what it’s like to be talked about in a less than positive way.

“There was a lot of fieldwork this week. Not much time in the office to pick up on rumors.” He bumps his shoulder against Draco’s, offering an unfairly adorable smile. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Of course he doesn’t, because Harry is kind and understanding and _perfect_. Merlin, Draco wants his genes. “Later,” he tells him, not sure if he means it. He banishes his empty ice cream cup wandlessly and stops them, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist. “Must be tense, out in the field. Why don’t we go back to your flat and I’ll help relieve a little of that tension?”

He _knows_ it’s a pathetic line, and somehow still knows it’ll work. Harry gulps and nods, pulling Draco into a nearby alley and gripping his hand to Side-Along him home.

*

Draco has to marvel at how easy it is to get Harry worked up. In hardly any time at all he’s being pressed up against the wall, with Harry grinding against his arse and kissing his neck and trying to get his trousers open all at once. They’ve been slowly making their way towards the bedroom, a few stumbling steps at a time, and Draco’s fairly sure he can see the correct door at the end of the hallway. He needs to get Harry into bed – needs more than just some desperate frotting, even if it feels _so good._

“Harry, Harry,” he pants, twisting to try and face him and just ending up with his lips captured in a frantic kiss, which he can’t really object to. Harry kisses him like he’s starved for it, like he’s quite sure no one’s ever done before. He has to focus, though, and manages to separate them enough to get the words out. “Bedroom, now.”

Harry grins, bright and eager and it makes him look a bit daft in a way Draco can only find endearing. He laughs as Harry actually lifts him up and carries him down the rest of the hallway, struggling to keep his balance considering he’s shorter than Draco and still very thin, even if Auror training has made him a touch more solid. He stops three times to kiss Draco again, mouthing at his throat in the meantime.

He finally drops Draco onto the bed, still grinning like an idiot but it’s a little less crazed and a lot more fond, and Draco feels his cheeks heat up as he squirms out of the rest of his clothes. Harry’s shirt has already been ripped open and he shrugs it off his shoulders before going for his belt, making quick work of it and his trousers. Draco leans forward, tugging down Harry’s pants until he can kick them off, and then turning to display his arse as he crawls towards the middle of the bed.

Harry makes a soft noise of surprise, and Draco shoots him a questioning look – his arse is spectacular, truly, but surely not all that different from the ones Harry’s seen before. Harry bites his lip like he’s not sure he should say anything, and looks like he’s torn between caution and amusement when he finally speaks.

“You’ve got a tail too?”

Draco groans, flopping back on the bed gracelessly. He’s not sure how he’d managed to forget about his condition – it probably has something to do with Potter’s hungry lips – but it had been nice while it lasted. “Yeah, I have. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m assuming it has something to do with the ears?” Harry climbs over him, his fingers stroking up and down the long ears and _bloody hell_ , that shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Draco sighs, feeling he owes Harry some explanation as long as he’s being so polite and unknowingly offering his sperm. “I’m an Animagus,” he murmurs, and it still stings that he can’t quite say it with the pride he’d planned for. “But something went wrong. No matter how many times I change, they don’t go away.”

“You’re an Animagus?” And trust Harry to only pay attention to half the story. “Draco, that’s amazing.”

Draco scoffs half-heartedly, but does notice that Harry looks genuinely impressed. “Hardly amazing to have to walk around with great big bunny ears all day. I’m a joke.” He knows he sounds miserable, and could kick himself when he realizes they’ve veered far off his desired course. Harry practically _coos_ , flipping them over so Draco’s in his lap.

“That kind of magic makes you anything but a joke. Merlin, you look gorgeous from this angle,” he praises, rocking up against Draco’s arse again. Draco moans softly, pleased to be back on track, and with a nice stroke to his ego as well as his cock when Harry wraps a loose fist around it.

Draco presses his body against Harry’s as much as possible as they grind together, dizzy from the contact and stealing kisses whenever he can. “I want you to fuck me, Harry,” he whispers, the breath shared between their lips. He can hear Harry’s hard swallow before he starts nodding quickly.

“Yeah. Yeah, brilliant. Want me to do the spells?” He twists like he’s going to need to reach for his wand, but Draco catches his wrist, pinning it down playfully.

“I’ll do it. You stay,” he orders, grinning as Harry’s hips buck up against his own. He climbs off, finding his wand and silently casting cleansing spells on both of them, hoping Harry won’t notice the lack of a protection spell. He doesn’t seem to, too busy studying Draco’s bare skin. Draco doesn’t bother struggling as Harry reaches for him, dragging him back onto the bed and flipping him onto his stomach.

Draco turns to look at him, a curious sound escaping his throat and he sincerely hopes this isn’t about the tail again. Harry just rubs his lower back gently, as if trying to soothe him. “Relax,” he murmurs, leaning down, and Draco finally gets it moments before Harry’s tongue is on him.

 _Oh._ His breath comes out in rasping shudders, because Harry is really _going_ for it, diving between Draco’s arse cheeks with unrivaled enthusiasm. His tongue laps around the hole at first, getting a taste for Draco’s recently purified skin, and then caresses the rim with gentle licks. Draco ruts against the mattress, his fists clenching and releasing sections of the sheets in rapid succession as he tries to hang on to something, _anything_ , as Harry drives him into a lustful frenzy.

If he’d known Harry would be this good with his tongue, that he’d be willing to treat Draco to this, that he’d _want_ to as much as it seems he does, Draco wouldn’t have hesitated for a second before eagerly seducing him. It wouldn’t have just been about the power.

He loses hold of that train of thought – loses the ability to think at all, really – as Harry’s tongue slips inside of him. He’s hardly conscious of the noises he’s making; he just hopes he’s not sobbing with want, as much as it would reflect exactly how he’s feeling. He pants when Harry pulls back, pressing affectionate kisses to Draco’s saliva-slick entrance, and Draco can only press his face into the mattress and moan. He’s impossibly hard, his hips still jerking to give him that little bit of friction, and he’s definitely not above begging at this point.

“Merlin, Harry, _please_.” He knew it would sound desperate, but he didn’t intend for it to come out so much like a whine. He’s not too bothered, though, because Harry just groans, his own hips jerking to grind against the back of Draco’s thigh.

“Turn over,” he murmurs, and Draco doesn’t waste a moment. As soon as he’s on his back Harry’s gripping his calves, nearly bending him in half. He reaches down to mutter a wandless self-lubricating charm, easing the way a bit as he pushes forward into Draco.

Draco thinks it’s been too long since he’s been fucked, because it shouldn’t be this _intense._ Harry fills him up and makes him writhe and he never wants it to end, not if it keeps feeling like this. They gasp and curse and moan and Harry develops a good rhythm, forceful enough to be so very satisfying without getting too rough.

Draco has to close his eyes as the stimulation starts to overwhelm him, and when he opens them again they immediately lock with Harry’s, staring down at him while the man wears a fond half-smile. He groans, and then, “Fuck, Draco, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Draco gasps, half because the words shock him and half because Harry has just aimed a particularly hard jab at his prostate. “How long?” he gasps, too curious not to ask.

“Oh, _Merlin._ Since- since school.” And he grins, holding onto Draco’s ankles as he bends him even more as he thrusts deeper, harder, and Draco only manages a whimper when he tries to respond.

It’s fairly apparent when Harry gets close to coming, his muscles quivering and his mouth hanging open like he’s on the verge of ecstasy but doesn’t want it to end just yet. Finally it gets to be too much and he’s shooting off, and Draco clenches tight around him, greedily sucking the seed into his body. Harry drops his legs, half-collapsing into his lap to wrap his lips around Draco’s _very_ hard cock, sucking and jerking for the few moments it takes to finally push Draco over the edge.

They lay there, sprawled on the bed and waiting for their hearts to stop pounding. The silence is comfortable, if only because they feel too good for it to be anything else. Draco’s hand drifts down to pet Harry’s hair, and Harry’s soft breaths tickle his side from where he’s still resting his head around Draco’s middle. Harry’s glasses have been mostly dislodged from his face after being askew for most of the act, and Draco fixes them, earning a smile and a light kiss just below his navel.

They stay fairly quiet, not having words and not needing them, and after a while Harry climbs up to lay at Draco’s side. “You staying?” he wonders, his hand on Draco’s chest like he would want to keep him from going if he said no.

“Yeah,” Draco replies, even though he knows he probably shouldn’t, because the point of this wasn’t to have the most incredible sex of his life – he’d had a goal, and it had been accomplished, and they could get on with their lives. But Harry looks too good, hair ruffled, skin still flushed a pleasant pink and green eyes soft and sleepy. He’ll worry about what he should and should not do in the morning, after he’s had his fill of Harry’s warmth against his back as their bodies spoon together and they sink into sleep.

*

Draco wakes slowly, stretching out and practically writhing in anticipation when the sleepy fog clears and he remembers where he is. He slips out of bed as quietly as he can, stumbling one too many times as he tugs on his trousers, and Harry stirs.

“You’re leaving?” he mumbles, and he sounds disappointed.

“Not yet. Mind if I make a firecall?” He hopes for a positive answer, as he’d been planning on using Harry’s fireplace anyway.

“Go ‘head. It’s out in the living room.” He rolls back over, pressing his face into the pillow as Draco gets his shirt on. “Come back when you’re done?”

“Yeah.” He can’t fight a grin as steps out of the bedroom, knowing he shouldn’t get his hopes up too high but he just can’t help himself. He speaks Hermione’s address clearly as he tosses powder into the flames, waiting rather impatiently until she answers and chirping a cheery, “Good morning!”

“Oh, Draco.” She frowns, not bothering to conceal her confusion. “I expected you to be Harry. Why-”

“I have a question,” he interrupts, not having time for _that_ conversation right now. “That spell you used when you kept showing off your pregnancy, what was it?”

“I wasn’t _showing off_ -”

“The spell, please, Hermione.”

She shows him the wand movement while reciting the incantation, and it glows a dull red to show she’s not pregnant. He repeats it in his mind, pulling his head away from the fire.

“ _Gravidus_!” He flicks and twirls his wand, laughing delightedly when it shines a bright blue. He leans in again to give an enthusiastic, “Thank you!” before abruptly ending the call, a skip in his step on the way back to Harry’s bedroom.

Harry’s asleep again already, breathing softly and looking entirely warm and inviting. Draco unbuttons his shirt again, fully intending to climb back under the covers and get his cuddle on. He’s undoing the last button when the door is thrown open, making him jump and Harry start awake.

“Hermione!” Harry shouts, properly scandalized by his female friend bursting in while he’s naked in bed and a few feet away from an undressing Draco. She looks back and forth between them, and Draco can see it as she puts the pieces together.

“What have you done?” she demands, and he hasn’t seen her look so angry at him since school. “I know you two aren’t in a real relationship, Harry would have told me.” She falters for a moment, glancing at Harry. “Right?”

He nods quickly, smart enough to be scared in the presence of a yelling Hermione, even if her fury isn’t directed at him. “Just last night,” he assures.

She rounds on Draco again. “Were you doing it on purpose? Did you tell him, or were you just using him?”

He doesn’t bother to dwell on her assuming the worst of him, considering she’s right, but he really hadn’t thought of it like _that_. He feels the guilt starting to gnaw at him– even worse when he sees Harry looking at him with confusion and worry and hurt.

Hermione opens her mouth to explain to him, but just closes it again, looking like she can’t bring herself to say it. It’s starting to hit Draco that he _really_ didn’t think this all through. He’d been acting on instinct – _animal_ instinct – and as he comes to his senses, he doesn’t know what was him and what was just a result of his botched transformation tampering with his mind.

“What were you thinking?” Hermione asks Draco, quieter but dripping with a stabbing disappointment. “This is _important_ to him. It’s not something you can just play around with.”

Draco hates the feeling of shame that threatens to drown him, and hates it even more that he completely brought it on himself. “I’m sorry,” he says to Harry, and it’s not nearly enough because he took advantage of him, but it’s all he can think of. Harry rubs a hand over his eyes, looking weary and frustrated and like someone who’s dealt with entirely too much shit in his life and doesn’t need more piled on. _Fuck._

“Could I just please know what’s going on?”

Hermione stares at Draco, expectant, and he nods. “I’ll tell him. Could you give us some privacy?” Her eyes turn suspicious and he sighs. “I promise I really will tell him.”

She seems to trust him enough, as she leaves him alone after only a moment’s hesitation. Draco sits on the edge of the bed, where Harry’s staring down at his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, but Harry doesn’t look up.

“Is it blackmail?” he wonders when Draco doesn’t immediately fess up. “Were you hoping I wouldn’t want anyone to know so you could get me to do something for you? Or get someone else to? Were you planning to do something to me while I was sleeping, or take something from my flat? Or plant something _in_ my flat?”

“No. No, Merlin, nothing like any of that.” He laughs weakly, because he still can’t believe how _crazed_ he was, so focused on his baby fever that nothing else had crossed his mind. “It might be better if it was, though. Christ.”

“What is it, then? What’s worse that I’m not considering?”

“I- I think it was the rabbit thing.” He gestures to his ears. “Hermione brought Rose into work and something just took over me. I needed my own. I _felt_ like I needed my own,” he corrects, rubbing his eyes. He looks up to see Harry watching him curiously.

“Your own?”

“A child. I’ve always planned to have them someday, but it was like I couldn’t think of anything else. I went looking for someone to,” he starts, biting his lip and not wanting to finish that sentence. “I could sense how powerful you were from across the room, and I wanted that. You have to understand, I wasn’t trying to do this _to_ you. It wasn’t personal, I wasn’t meaning to hurt you at all.”

“But you used a protection spell,” Harry protests, his expression a mix between surprised and dubious and irritated.

“I used cleansing spells,” Draco confirms. “But I didn’t actually do a protection spell.”

“Still, you might not be-”

“I am. I already checked.” He does the spell again, and Harry stares at the blue light until it finally goes out. It’s silent for full minutes, and Draco starts to fidget.

“Wow,” Harry finally breathes out, rubbing his eyes again. “So you’re pregnant. Did you- Do you still-” He pauses, thinking before trying to speak again. “The instincts. Do you still want it?”

“Oh. Yeah, I do. I’m not planning to get rid of it, of course not. Why, would you want-”

“No! Merlin, no. I’m just not sure what to do about this whole thing. No one’s ever tricked me into getting them pregnant before.” He shoots Draco a wry smile, and Draco just feels the guilt churning again. “Family’s kind of a big deal for me, Draco. I want to be involved with it. He. She. Whatever.”

“Anything,” Draco promises quickly. “Anything you want. I know it doesn’t mean much, but you can’t imagine how awful I feel for having done this to you. It wasn’t fair, I’m sure it’s nothing like you would have imagined for yourself, and-”

Harry cuts him off before he can continue rambling. “We’ll make the best of it,” he decides, handling it like the impossibly strong (and hopefully forgiving) Gryffindor he is. “At this point, that’s all we can do.”

*

Draco doesn’t see Harry for almost two months. They exchange owls at least once a week so that Draco can fill him in on what the Healers have told him and Harry can be reassured repeatedly that nothing bad has happened. They never actually make contact, though, and Draco really can’t blame Harry for that, after all that he did. Harry might have been expecting it to have been a one night stand, and he wouldn’t have needed to see Draco after. Or he might have hoped it would be more – what was it he’d said? Something about wanting him since school – in which case he would probably be feeling betrayed and conflicted and would really not _want_ to see him.

Either way, Draco’s fine to let him have his space. He buries himself in paper work, knowing he’ll need to get as much done while he’s still able to be in the office, and works long hours outside of that with Hermione, experimenting with glamour spells until they finally manage one that will stick for more than thirty minutes without harming him by conflicting with his pregnancy or the stubborn Animagus magic that still surrounds him. He gets odd looks while he has bunny ears, and will get odd looks when his stomach gets big enough to be obvious, but he really doesn’t need to combine the two.

He only notices the slight change because he’s so thin, but he can see how he’s starting to round out just the slightest bit in front, and that it’s only the beginning. He waits until Friday afternoon, when he has a few hours free, and – after jotting a quick note to Harry to let him know that _I’m fine, nothing’s happened, I’m still pregnant, even starting to show if you look closely_ – goes to Diagon Alley to see Madam Malkin.

“Good afternoon, Mister Malfoy,” she greets, setting aside the piece of fabric she’d been holding. Her eyes flick up in a way he’s used to, the way that anyone who’s heard about the bunny ears (which is apparently _everyone_ , if even Madam Malkin’s doing it) checks for them. He’ll need to thank Hermione a thousandth time for helping him come up with that glamour. “Did you need a new pair of dress robes?”

He wonders if she remembers every customer she’s ever had by name, and what they most often buy from her. “No, just a few new pairs of everyday robes, and some for work. Made looser around the midsection.”

She eyes him closely. “Looser?”

“For a pregnancy,” he explains, keeping his chin up, because it may be a rarity but he isn’t going to let it shame him. He’s had plenty of practice putting on a dignified face when he knows he looks ridiculous. Madam Malkin just nods slowly, still not taking her eyes off of him.

“I’ll just take your measurements then, shall I?”

He strips out of his robes and jumper, standing in just his trousers and an undershirt as the measuring tape magically wraps and unwraps around various sections of his body. He can see it in the corner of his eye when the shop door opens and glances up, not expecting to see anyone of interest, but he freezes when his eyes meet a familiar green pair.

“Draco,” Harry greets, a little breathless and obviously just as surprised to run into him there. Madam Malkin turns, offering Harry a smile so wide that Draco actually feels that old teenage jealousy flare up (of _course_ she’d be so pleased to see _Harry Potter_ ) before he’s able to extinguish it as ridiculous.

“Mister Potter! Here to pick up your robes, I presume? I’ve got them in the back. Do you mind waiting a moment, Mister Malfoy?”

Draco shakes his head, trying not to just stare at Harry but finding it difficult to look away when Harry’s staring right back at him. “The ears went away,” Harry comments once they’re alone.

“It’s a glamour. They’re still there.” Harry nods and the room goes quiet, and Draco doesn’t want the conversation to die. “You look good,” he blurts out, instantly regretting it because he’d wanted to make this _less_ awkward.

He feels like the fates must be smiling down on him when Harry smiles and responds with, “Thanks. You do, too. I got your letter before I came here, you said you’re showing now?”

Draco nods and lifts his shirt, trying not to feel uncomfortable as Harry comes closer because it’s not like Harry hasn’t seen him in much more compromising positions. “Just barely, but it kind of curves there, see?” He shivers as Harry lightly lays a hand on his stomach.

“Wow,” Harry murmurs, staring at Draco’s stomach like it holds the answers to life’s mysteries. “It’s really in there.”

“Really is,” Draco agrees quietly. “Possibly more than one. The Healers haven’t been able to get an accurate reading, with all the Animagus magic.”

“You never mentioned that. In your letters, I mean.”

“They don’t know anything for sure.” Draco hears a noise from the back room where Madam Malkin had disappeared into, and he eases his undershirt back down. Harry takes the hint and pulls his hand away, though he looks disappointed about it. He glances around to make sure the shop is still empty apart from them, and then meets Draco’s eyes, talking quickly.

“Draco, I know we’ve haven’t seen each other since that night, but this is a big deal that involves both of us. I think we should make more of an effort to get to know each other, get on better terms. If you’re free next Friday night, I’d like to ask you out to dinner. And if not, then Saturday, or Sunday, or we can go get lunch sometime. I want us to give this a chance.”

He looks determined and hopeful and Draco can’t think of any logical reason to deny him. “Friday’s fine,” he assures, and the relief that spreads across Harry’s face fills him with an odd sort of warmth. He keeps his expression under control when Madam Malkin comes back in the room to give Harry the robes he’d ordered, but once his own fitting is finished and he’s Apparated back home, he can’t stop grinning like an idiot and doesn’t mind enough to really try.

*

One date turns into two and three and four, and soon it’s a routine thing, these Friday dinners. The weekday lunches are next, and meeting up in the mornings for tea or coffee on the days they know they won’t be able to have lunch together (and sometimes even when they will), and then sometimes spending the nights after the Friday dates becomes _always_ spending the nights, and sometimes Saturday nights, too.

Draco’s just over six months pregnant when they decide to move in together. Harry handles all of the furniture, even though it wouldn’t hurt Draco at all to swish and flick his wand to lift a couch (they both know he just gets a kick out of making Harry do things for him).

Three more weeks pass before Harry finds Draco’s stash.

“I went into the nursery room today,” he says that evening at supper, and Draco freezes, his fork halfway to his mouth. Harry had known that the mound of baby clothes and toys and diapers had to have been put there by his boyfriend, but the guilty look on Draco’s face is still a sort of confirmation.

“Oh?” is all Draco says, reaching for his glass of iced pumpkin juice.

“You’re nesting,” Harry states, grinning as he watches the blush spread over Draco’s cheeks.

Draco turns up his nose a bit. “I don’t know what you mean. Would you pass the rolls, please?”

Harry complies, and Draco’s hand drifts lovingly to his stomach, and the next day they’re shopping for dressers to put the clothes in.

*

“You could at least _attempt_ to be something other than completely useless,” Draco mutters. There’s no bite to his words because he’s not really bothered- honestly, he finds it endearing that Harry’s so flustered. He’s entitled to be, after coming home from the hospital with a no-longer-pregnant boyfriend (whose rabbit attributes have finally gone away, now that he’s procreated) and _four_ babies.

Draco had thought he was too big to just be carrying one, but even he hadn’t expected four. He gets teary-eyed every time he looks at them and Harry just looks dazed and can’t concentrate long enough to transfigure some old chairs into bassinets, and has just managed to make a wobbly bench.

“I’m trying,” Harry promises, reciting the spell again and finally producing a fourth acceptable bassinet. “What happens if we mix them up?”

“We won’t.”

“What if I’m not a good parent?”

“You will be.”

“But what-”

Draco cuts him off with a kiss, and Harry’s arms wrap around him in a secure hug. Before he knows it, he’ll be pulling each of their children into such an embrace before sending them off onto the Hogwarts Express, where Draco’s sure they’ll be some of the most powerful students the school has ever seen. For now, though, they get each infant snuggly bundled and laid in their bassinets, and take advantage of the time to rest before the crying starts.

**Author's Note:**

> On LJ [here](http://undrsomestairs.livejournal.com/29880.html).


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